Maura Was Once Jealous
by Khiori
Summary: Maura remembers how she was.


She'd been jealous at first.

It embarrassed her now to admit it, even in the secret recesses of her heart where none could know her thoughts but herself. Yet, she could not help but be anything less than honest even there. Even if it still made her fair cheeks blush as she did to know that one of her obvious intelligence succumbed, even for a little bit, to so petty an emotion.

Still, it was true all the same.

She _had_ been jealous.

It was now almost amusing, really.

In that wry ironical almost amusing way less than perfect memories were often looked back on. She supposed she should be pleased somehow that it only proved once more that the one so many had tormented throughout childhood and later college for her seeming unnatural lack of emotions had been quite wrong. Maybe she might have been pleased, had the memories felt less . . . embarrassing.

Which they were.

How could they really be anything less?

Because it had been _Maura_ , who was the one who had the rarified upbringing of wealth with all the power and luxury that came naturally with it, who was jealous. Because it had been _Maura_ , who was the one who had the brilliant exclusive mind of a genius and the proud scientific accolades and highly sought after privileged education that came with it, who was jealous. And because it had been _Maura_ , who was the one who had the successful intensely prestigious career and the much admired respected fame that came with it, who was jealous.

It had been _her_ who had _everything_.

And yet was still jealous of Jane.

 _Jane._

It had taken her a while to realize it, to recognize the psychological root cause for the sudden presence of unprovoked irritation and the quiet lurking almost anger for what it actually was. To gradually see that it wasn't something the rasp voiced woman had said or done or failed to do at all that was truly bothering her so.

To finally _understand_ that it was what she _represented_ to Maura that was the real problem.

Because when Maura had looked at Jane, she had seen everything she had always so bitterly _wanted_.

And never _had_.

She had seen Jane's vibrant loving intensely intimate _family_ , while she had looked back on her own cool dispassionate lonely _upbringing_. She had seen Jane's meaningful and deep human _relationships_ , while she had looked back on her own state of almost absolute social _isolation_. She had seen Jane's profound burning sense of _cause_ , while she had looked back on her own empty mechanical corpse _processing_.

And Maura had known with perfect fierce certitude that hurt all the way to her bones instantly that she would have given anything, _anything_ , from her privileged hollow feeling life to have even a _portion_ of what Jane had so abundantly to overflowing in _hers_.

What Jane so often rolled her eyes at or huffed over or complained about but still smiled over.

 _Anything_.

Because to tell another unspoken secret truth, Maura had _always_ known she hadn't _really_ had everything. It had just been easier to overlook the painfully missing things before Jane. It wasn't lying to herself. No. She just didn't . . . acknowledge . . . them until they faded manageably into the background of her daily routine. Carefully, perfectly, ignorable. Like the heavy oily sweet smell of decay in her morgue. Ignorable.

Until the single moment someone went green then white and bolted like Frost used to and she was forced to notice it again.

Only to find that it somehow now stank worse than she remembered it had.

Jane had done that to her _life_.

Maura's mouth quirked dryly.

If anyone had ever learned she had felt this way, they probably would have laughed and called her _insane_. After all, _she_ was the one who modern civilization standards said had _everything_. And Jane was almost entirely _opposite_.

If anything, Jane _should_ have been jealous of _her_.

But other than the occasional longing frustration expressed desired moments for a _quieter_ and less _chaotic_ life, and perhaps for Maura's massive screen television during Super Bowl, Jane was actually content with her life.

And content, Maura knew, not because it was _perfect_ but because it was _full_.

Because it was truly _lived_.

Her mouth softened fondly and she shook her head ruefully.

Apparently, it _didn't_ take a genius to figure out you were actually _happy_.

Maura shifted in her fine leather office chair and leaned her chin on her palm, remembering.

Yes, she had indeed been jealous.

But not for _long_.

Because it also, apparently, _didn't_ take a genius to figure out when someone else was actually _unhappy_ , either.

And in an entirely straightforward completely _Jane_ move, the woman had simply reached out a scarred hand and dragged Maura bodily into _her_ life.

She dragged her in with all the grinning wild intensity that was just naturally Jane's enormous generous Italian heart, giving _freely_ all that Maura would once have dearly given _anything_ to have. _Sharing_ without restraint or condition or even holding anything back, her family and friendships and cause.

All that made _her_ happy.

As if somehow, for some reason, she just thought it was _Maura's_ right to have it, too.

Just because _Jane_ did.

It was the _purest_ selfless gift Maura had ever received.

And it was the first time she had known what it _truly_ was to be loved.

To _live_.

Suddenly her entire world completely changed forever.

 _Maura_ changed forever.

And _now_ she knew she had at last _everything_.

Yes, she had been jealous once, it was true.

But she wasn't any more.

And Maura _smiled_.


End file.
